You are all aids, in the eye of god
by backpack bootswiper map
Summary: I am a big fish in a little pond, a true fanfiction writer at best. I am better than all of you for I know how to write UNLIKE YOU. I learned this from the helpful tips of such great writers from this fandom.


"Move."

A finger prodded Fox McCloud in the small of his back. He complied, stepping off the elevator and into a hallway on the… _Great Wolf_, I guess, since I can't think of anything better to fucking call it. The cat behind him followed closely; his considerable height intimidated Fox more than slightly. He almost wondered if Wolf had hired Panther just because of that.

The fox had tried to make small talk with him on the ride up from his cell. Rather, he'd asked Panther things like: Where he was going? Had they contacted his team? What had they said? But the cat remained quiet all throughout, which only increased his intimidation factor.

Fox didn't deal well with the silent treatment. He looked down at his boots. Each of his footsteps clanked against the metal floor of the ship as he was led around the ship. Handcuffs around his wrists kept him from, well, taking control of the situation.

It was more than a little humiliating, to be honest.

The great Fox McCloud, hero of the Lylat War, completely at the mercy of his rival.

Even the thought of that put a pit in his stomach. Wolf had _some_ kind of code of honor, he'd learned as of late. He just wasn't sure how far it extended.

Then: "Stop," Panther suddenly commanded.

They stood in front of a door that blended in—almost seamlessly—with the sterile grey of the ship's walls. Fluorescent lights above revealed a nameplate etched into the door. _W. O'Donnell_, it read.

As Fox's eyes registered the name, the pit in his stomach got worse. 'I guess I'm about to find out,' he thought.

With two knuckles, Panther rapped on the door twice. "Wolf?" he spoke. "I've brought the prisoner, as per your request."

The door hissed open. Fox dry swallowed.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, the first thing he noticed was a poster tacked to the wall: with her arms above her head, a poodle stood on some tropical beach, wearing a wink and nothing else. Underneath the poster was an unkempt bed, topped with a crumpled-up pile of dirty sheets, creased leather jackets, and torn fishnets. Empty bottles and boots littered the floor, and in the corner stood a desk, the surface of which was covered with stained star charts and half-empty mugs of coffee.

The last thing he noticed about the room was that in it, Wolf O'Donnell was nowhere to be found.

"Oh, excuse me," Panther said—maybe to Fox. "It seems he's not in this room."

"I'm in the observatory, dummy," came a voice over the ship's loudspeaker. "_Shee_-it."

Panther fished in his pocket for his communicator and almost dropped it as he pressed the call button. "Please pardon my mistake, as well as our intrusion into your private quarters," he said. "I'll bring the prisoner to the observatory at once."

"Y'know in the time it took you to say all that, you could've just walked here?" said the loudspeaker.

"Continue down the hall," Panther said, still shadowing Fox as he led the way. It was not as though he had much choice in the matter.

Less than a hundred feet down the hall—but on the other side—was a door marked _Observatory_. Unfortunately, the short trip did nothing to alleviate Fox of his anxiety; if anything, that pit had turned out to be a cocoon, and now his stomach was full of butterflies.

The cat again rapped on the door as he had done in front of Wolf's room. "Boss?" he asked.

"Yeah, come on in," came a muffled voice.

The door opened, casting a long trapezoid of light into an otherwise pitch-black room. Fox couldn't make out whether the dark room was large, small, or just decently sized; as he squinted his eyes to try and focus on something within the dark, a plume of cigarette smoke rolled out into the hall and right into his nostrils. He made a face.

"I've brought the prisoner as per your request," Panther repeated to the dark room.

"Thanks, Caroso," came a gravelly response from the darkness. "Yer dismissed."

The cat's hand sent Fox forward into the room. He tripped on nothing and stumbled, catching himself before he made his already ungraceful entrance even worse. Then the door slid closed behind him, putting him completely in the dark.

"So glad you could finally join me," the voice continued. Then, it commanded: "Computer, floor lights."

A series of lights around the room's edges lit up one after the other, revealing the room's contents. One wall had a full bar, Fox noted, full of expensive liquors he'd never heard of before. Or wait, some not so expensive—there were a few plastic jugs of Baaka, Old Raven, and other things he'd recognized as rail drinks from any old dive bar in the Lylat system. Barstools lined the bar, and several plush-looking pieces of furniture were scattered around the room; a mounted chair sat in the center of the room, almost like a second captain's chair.

And then, Fox saw it. The wall at the end of the room was actually a window looking out onto an endless parade of stars. He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling the tension escaping from his body. The _Great Fox_ had no observatory of its own, but sometimes—if he found that he couldn't sleep after lights out—he'd sneak onto the bridge by himself and watch the autopilot guide his ship through the majesty of outer space. It was beautiful and humbling all at once.

His eyes darted from one speck of blue to the next, following them as they moved from the right of the window and disappeared off its left edge. One star stayed right in the center, though, glowing a dim orange.

'A red dwarf, perhaps?' Fox mused. But wait, that didn't make sense. Why would it be right in the center if it wasn't on the ship's course?

Suddenly it flared, growing brighter and revealing the grey snout it was stuck in. A lit cigarette.

"Howdy," said Wolf's reflection in the window.

Fox felt his ears flatten against his skull. The chair in the center of the room swiveled, revealing his nemesis, chewing on the filter of his cigarette and swishing a glass of bourbon in one hand. He was clad in a dark flight suit that was stuffed into his boots; however, he'd slightly unzipped it, revealing a tuft of white chest fur.

The fox's eyes first went to that tuft, but then continued on, scanning the rest of his body. He noted that Wolf's jumpsuit was oddly tight around the arms and legs, barely hiding the irritatingly defined muscles underneath. Not that he'd ever admit it to Wolf without a hearty dose of sodium pentathol, but he did appear to take good care of himself.

Wolf coughed. Fox finally looked at his face. His sight landed on one eye, one eyepatch, and two raised eyebrows.

"Enjoyin' the view?" he said, then pursed his lips; Fox grumbled to himself. "Go on and pop a squat wherever."

"I've been sitting in your brig for hours," McCloud replied, terse. "So I'll stand, thanks."

"Uh-huh." Wolf sucked smoke through his cigarette, causing the cherry to glow brightly again. "Well you sit whenever your ass lets you. I know you're probably smarting from that good reaming you got today, is all."

Fox glared at him.

"Gee, what a smile you got there, sunshine!" chirped O'Donnell. "Can't tell you how I've been looking forward to seeing it since we captured you. Sure doesn't look much like it does when your mug gets printed up in the _Corneria Times_."

"Why the hell'd you bring me up here, Wolf?"

"We'll get to that. Now—" O'Donnell then put his glass of bourbon down on the floor and got up from his chair. "Can I get you anything? We don't have the fixings for appletinis or whatever you kiddies sip on these days, but you might take a shine to a good bourbon."

Fox decided to ignore that. "I'll just have a water, thanks."

A half-smirk appeared on Wolf's face. "What," he said. "You don't drink?"

"Of course I fucking drink, Wolf," Fox snapped. "I'm 29. I'm just imprisoned on an enemy ship, so I'll stick with water, _thank you_."

O'Donnell rolled his one eye, then walked over to the bar and produced a can of cola.

"Have a coke," he said, cracking it open and putting it in front of McCloud. "Live a little."

"My hands are in handcuffs."

"Why, so they are! You want a straw? How about a little umbrella, too?"

"How about I just knock it over? Make a puddle on your nice, clean floor?"

"Oh, but then your clothes might get all sticky." Wolf batted his eye. "You don't happen to keep an extra pair stuffed up there with that stick in your ass, do ya?"

"Fuck off."

Wolf practically barked. "Ha! Hit a nerve, did I?"

He had no response to that. If the handcuffs on his wrists weren't keeping him from folding his arms, he'd have done so. Instead he just settled for a pout and a refusal to make eye contact with the other man, who walked out from behind the bar, picked up his glass of bourbon, and resettled himself in his chair.

"Oh c'mon," O'Donnell finally commented on Fox's expression. "We're just shooting the shit. That's all."

"Well, forgive me if I'm not in the mood to talk," McCloud said through his extremely serious pout. "Especially to someone who was trying to kill me a few hours ago."

"Hey, gimme some credit." Wolf leaned forward in his seat. "If I'd really been trying to kill you, you'd be dead."

"What do you mean _if_?" he said. "You were shooting at my Arwing."

"Yeah."

"In _space_. You know what would have happened if you'd breached my hull?"

"Yeah." Wolf blinked. "But I didn't."

"I—" He had no words to follow that, so he just closed his mouth. Then: "This is the worst interrogation ever."

"Well," Wolf sipped from his bourbon. "I just have to make do since your crew picked up my information retrieval officer."

Right. Leon.

Fox had some weird lucky stars, but he thanked them anyway. "Well, even if you don't follow the Corneria Convention Treatment of Prisoners—"

"Ah, the good ol' CCTP!"

The fox rolled his eyes. "I'd recommend you keep in mind the fact that my team has Leon. If I'm returned in anything less than a healthy condition, they'll keep Leon and move to arrest both you and Panther."

Wolf's jaw dropped open; his lit cigarette fell to the metal floor of the observatory, where it died.

"Oh my!" he said. "Little ol' me, pursued by team Star Fox. Why, if I'm not shakin' in my boots!"

"What is it you _want_," followed by him letting out what might have been the largest sigh possible. "Why'd you capture me? Why'd you call me up here?"

"Alright, down to business." Wolf leaned back into his seat. "I got a question that I need you to put to rest."

"Okay," Fox said. "I'm waiting."

But his captor only swirled his drink, silently. He stared—maybe at Fox, maybe through him at something.

And it unnerved Fox, which might have been the point. "Do you want to know what we were doing patrolling this sector?" he offered.

"Nah," Wolf said.

"Do you want to know who we were looking for out here?"

"Still a nope."

"Well then, what is your damn _question_?"

O'Donnell cleared his throat, but still didn't say anything. He crossed his legs in the chair. Then he uncrossed them. Then he crossed them again.

And then he asked: "Are you gay?"

If Fox had been able to drink his soda, it would have shot out his nose.

"What?!"

Wolf smirked. "I mean, who's punching your dance card these days? Is it mostly covered with snail trails or mushroom stamps?"

And then: "Don't tell me you don't know what those are, Mr. _Of course I drink I'm 29_."

Fox made a noise that sounded like an engine running out of gas. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and desperately hoped beyond hope that Wolf wouldn't see him blushing underneath his fur.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he sputtered. "You called me up here to ask me that? Well it's none of your goddamn business if—"

"_I'm _gay," Wolf interrupted.

McCloud went silent.

"Well, not _gay_ gay," O'Donnell clarified. "Just not straight, neither. I think the kids call it 'pansexual' these days. I'll get it on with anybody—trans, cis, innies or outies or in-betweenies. It's all good."

Words still eluded his captive.

"As long as they want to fuck _me_, I mean," Wolf finished. He took a sip of his bourbon. "That's the caviar."

"Well thanks for sharing, I guess?" Fox finally said.

The wolf raised an eyebrow. "Now it's your turn. It's only fair."

Gears whirred in Fox's brain. He wasn't sure if he should tell Wolf without knowing what his agenda might be. Where would this information end up going? Rumor mill? Blackmail? Tabloid spreads? But then, Wolf told him that he wasn't straight; no sense in lying about that. Would Wolf really try to ruin his reputation if he divulged his own sexuality to Fox? Did Wolf even care if people found out about him? Was he really going to trade live ammunition for blanks?

A wrench finally fell into Fox's machinery and brought all of it to a grinding halt. Against his better judgment, he decided to tell him the truth.

"Yeah," he said, pinning his ears back. "Yeah, I'm gay."

"All the way gay?"

"I like men, Wolf."

Wolf's nostrils flared. "That's good," he said, calmly and evenly. "No shame in it."

Fox narrowed his eyes. "At least act like you're a little surprised."

"Try not to be too disappointed, alright?" O'Donnell said through a grin. "I have a way of knowing these things."

And then his grin somehow got even wider. "It's the bird, innit?"

All the burning in his cheeks that Fox had been trying to suppress only moments ago—it came back with the fury of a thousand stars.

"No, no way," he lied.

At that, Wolf only laughed. "Leon owes me 50 credits."

"I said we're not together!"

"Mmhm. Right."

Fox slouched and mumbled a couple of choice words about Wolf under his breath. "Am I really that easy to read?"

"Like I said, I have my ways," O'Donnell responded. "Now for the lightnin' round: Do you pitch or do you catch?"

Finally the blush overtook Fox's face completely. "What?!"

"You really don't get out much, do you? Are you a top or a bottom?"

"I understood you," he said, shakily. "I just don't… why are you—"

"Let's just say I wanna make you a proposition," Wolf said. "I'm propositioning you."

And then every fiber of Fox's body began to scream.

"WHAT_._"

"Okay, now I'm concerned for your hearing," said Wolf, who was not at all concerned. "When was the last time you got your ears checked?"

The hackles on the back of McCloud's neck rose. "Y-you can't just go around, point-blank asking people to have sex with you."

"Why not? So far it's worked out pretty good."

"Remember when you tried to kill me a few hours ago?!" McCloud roared, indignant. "Why the hell would I want to fuck you?"

"To pass the time until your team contacts us?" Wolf paused to uncross his legs and swirl his bourbon. "Plus, I saw the way you were eyein' me when you came in here. Don't deny it."

Fox scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. I was sizing you up."

"Oho. Didn't take you for a size queen."

"Remember when you killed my father a few years ago?"

"Yer really gonna hold that against me forever?"

"Why would I want to fuck the man who killed my father?"

"You shoulda seen the way he was dressed! He was asking for it!"

"Wow, did you really just make a rape joke in an anti-rape fic?"

"Wow, did you really just break the fourth wall? You should cool it on the metafiction, McCloud—"

"'It's a tired gimmick,' yeah. Yeah, well, you should cool it on the self-referencing."

Wolf sneered. Fox sneered. Even the narrator sneered, but no one could see it under the giant lampshade marked "DISAPPOINTMENT."

Thus the two had Japanese sexuality from what the rapist RhsWilde told me. Which is really kink and raunchy and probably the most amazing sex you could imagine...

**AND SO THIS IS WHERE THE STORY ENDS CUZ THE WRITE STOPPED CARING.**

**YOU HAVE AN IMAGINATION, USE IT, DOUCHE.**

**AUTHOR NOTES: **Wolf then turned into a women cuz gay sex is nasty and I am not gay like Jack64 and Wolf had tits and a vagingo this whole time not in the transway cuz that's gross too cuz that's men trying to make us straight guys gay how dare they! So I must show my masculinity and my knowledge of canon, command and starlink aren't canon, BESIDES THE KRYSTAL ENDING BECAUSE IT'S THE ONLY THING THAT'S STRAIGHT AND DOESN'T THREATEN MY FRAIL MASCULINITY. And all the characters were in character because they're not gay, only straight characters are canon because I said so and if you make anything queer, you're making propaganda and trying to project AND STOP STEALING STRAIGHT CHARACTERS, THERE'S PLENTY OF GAY CHARACTERS LIKE SLIPPY YOU DOUCHE.

I work so hard protecting this country with my guns and the damn liberals are TRYING TO STEAL IT BY SAYING GUNS CAUSE MASS SHOOTING WHEN REALLY IT'S THE LGBT+ COMMUNITY AND THE GODLESS ATHEIST and this is how you repay me by stealing MY CHARACTERS LIKE Anita Sarkeesian tried to steal female characters from us MEN. We are the alpha gammers, who are oppressed by societiy and the SJW propaganda! I know this because us big brain gammers, who watch Rick and Morty, ONLY TRUE MEN WILL UNDERSTAND OUR PAIN.

Your propaganda is infecting kids by making them gay! DON'T YOU KNOW THEY WERE BETTER OFF REPRESSED, ALONE, AND UNABLE TO BE SHOWN IN ANY MEDIA WHAT SO EVER AND HAVE THE HIGHEST SUICIDE RATE! God, I miss the old times in the 90's when gays, blacks, and women were oppresse. BUT NOW IT'S US WHITE MALE GAMERS, THEY ARE TRYING TO SEEK REVENGE SO TAKE UP ARMS AND FIRE AT THE MEXICANS TAKING OUR JOBS AND BLAME IT ON ANYTHING BUT THE BEAUTFUL, WHITE MASTER RACE.

YOU. WON'T. TAKE. MY. GUNS. MY. WOMEN WHO BELONG TO ME A REAL MALE. OR. MY. CHARACTERS.


End file.
